by Vivian Wood
While she didn't know anything about keyboards, she did know that Milo was gorgeous. As tall and confident as his bandmate, he had light blue eyes, and short, slightly curly hair. He leapt to his feet as he spotted them making their way toward him.
He and Rhys gave one another that awkward one-handed hug that defined male intimacy. Only this one wasn't awkward at all, as they seemed genuinely happy to be together.
Odd, she thought. They lived together from what she had seen last night, and worked together, yet they seemed really happy to see one another.
“Get it done, man?” Milo asked, eyeing her.
“Sure did, bud. I think, anyway. Time will tell.” Rhys nodded toward her.
Ah, that's what the happiness was about then. Milo obviously thought she had irrevocably agreed to Rhys' “arrangement.”
“Serena, meet Milo. My oldest and best friend, and my favorite brother.”
8
So you’re the famous Serena then, yeah?”
“And you must be the actually famous Milo, right?”
“You’re right, Rhy, she is something!” Milo replied, more to Rhys than to her.
“Rhysie here tells me you didn’t know who we were ‘til last night. He lying?”
“I’d heard of Misery, of course.” She didn't bother telling him how briefly she might have heard of their band. “I’m just not a panty-dropping fangirl… that’s all…”
Milo fist bumped Rhys and howled with laughter.
“Not yet, you mean,” he countered. Milo had been attractive the night before in the quick exchange she'd had with him, but now she realized he was much more than the blond-haired hottie she'd thought he was. Boyish, fun-loving charm oozed from him.
“Maybe, but I’ve had the chance to hear your lead guitarist unplugged, I think is what you guys call it, and he’s no Beethoven.”
“You wound me, princess.” Rhys laughed, his eyes crinkling with easy amusement as he held one hand to his heart.
Her heart skipped the tiniest of beats at hearing him call her “princess,” but she tried to ignore it.
“So, no drugs tonight huh, is that why the rest aren't here?” she asked neither of them in particular.
“Nah, they're around,” Milo said briefly before being effectively shut up by Rhys' glare.
The waitress came around with a tumbler of bourbon for each of the guys, and politely asked her what she wanted to drink, although her eyes implied she was really asking Serena how she would like to die. To his credit, though the waitress was definitely a looker, Rhys paid no attention to her.
“Just a glass of white wine, please.”
Rhys intervened, grabbing the wine list from her hand and surveying it carefully.
“We can do better than that.”
Milo looked over Rhys’s shoulder briefly, and they seemed to agree on one. “A bottle of that, please.”
Rhys pointed to something and handed the menu to the waitress without Serena's input. The waitress came back seconds later with a bottle of wine and three glasses. The guys declined their glasses and took swigs from their bourbon as the waitress poured a glass for Serena and settled the bottle into a silver ice bucket.
Lucky for me she hadn't known they wouldn't actually drink it just yet, or else she would most definitely have spit in the bottle judging from the daggers her eyes kept hurling at me, Serena thought.
Much to her surprise, Milo and Rhys were actually fun and easy to talk to. Neither seemed to long for the drugs being used all around them, and both seemed to be enjoying the company, content with nothing more than the conversation and the constant flow of bourbon.
Appropriately lubricated by almost half a bottle of wine for her, and a ton of bourbon for the guys, Milo had taken to calling her Sese.
She had crawled under Rhys' arm at some point, and he seemed happy to be cuddling her in public. It was Milo's turn to look surprised as Rhys nipped at her neck and ears, planting a small kiss on the top of her head as he laughed every now and then at things she said.
“So, I take it Rhysie here has told you of our predicament then?” Milo said, turning serious all of a sudden. Rhys said nothing, but he shot Milo a warning glance.
“We've just come off our second world tour, and the powers that be are on our asses to start belting out new shit. Except that Rhysie here seems dry. And Jett... well... he's not helping, and neither is Luc. In the old days, there'd be a concept, you know?” She didn't really, but she nodded anyway. “We'd all agree on the concept and then go off in different directions to write the songs. Bring it all back and find the magic together. Nowadays, that's just not happening so much.”
Again, she nodded like she understood, but she didn't. Though in the back of her mind, she thought she might be starting to.
“We need the magic back, fast, and until we do, someone needs to distract the vultures.” Milo stared at her like he was giving her a challenge.
“And you need me to be the prey?” she asked, her eyes focused on Rhys.
“Yeah, princess, I told you, you’re perfect.”
Okay then, she could play, at least she thought she could. She drew a deep breath. She needed to be more herself if she was going to at least try. “This DJ is awful. A proper Misery girl would ensure he honors the guests of honor while they're here.” They howled with laughter again.
“Actually princess, they've played about three remixes of our songs so far. And we're not the guests of honor tonight, just regular ol' partygoers.” She could feel the tips of her ears go pink, but hopefully they were sufficiently hidden by her ponytail.
“He's also playing songs of people we don't like, though,” Milo piped up. “So she might actually have a point. Isn't this that bitch who lied about you fucking her over last year?”
“You're both right.” Rhys laughed as he stood up and took her hand. “Come on, Sese,” he said, apparently adopting Milo's nickname for her. “Let's go show the DJ how it's done.”
Milo hollered with laughter behind them, but Rhys paid him no attention as he walked confidently into the DJ booth, no one stopping their crowned guitar prince.
The DJ stammered at Rhys, but it wasn't like he was going to say no to modern-day rock royalty, and he quickly let Rhys take over.
Rhys cued a song and led her down to the dance floor. She'd had far more wine than usual and her head was swimming a bit, but her body was attuned to his every move.
The opening bars to the song he had chosen started playing just as they hit the floor. “I love this song!” she yelled to him, and he took her into his arms. In her mind at that moment, everything seemed shiny and magical and beautiful.
She swayed along to the music in his arms, moving her hips with his, her arms draped around his strong shoulders and her body pressed to him. His hands were on her hips, and the heat from them burned into her sides. They danced for about three songs; when she looked up into his eyes he was staring down at her intently, like she was a particularly hard math problem. Suddenly, he bent her down and kissed her like she'd never been kissed before.
His kiss was hot and all-consuming. She could feel its warmth spreading from her lips, to her toes and fingers, to the top of her head. Her mind, heart and core all agreed they could feel this kiss beyond all others. All thoughts flew from her mind and the only thing she could think of was Rhys, his hands on her body, his tongue sure as it kneaded against hers.
He seemed wrapped up in the moment with her, kissing her hand, one hand cupping the back of her neck and the other one around her waist, pulling her against his body. He ground his hips into her until something buzzed in his pants. He gently released her from his kiss.
“I think it’s time for you to go home, Serena.”
“What if I'm not sufficiently wowed yet?” She was panting from his kiss, still feeling that fire in her blood and an aching need in places that hadn't ever ached like this before. Places that hadn't felt anything for a long time. She was, however, also feeling pathetic and rejected a
s he pulled away from her. Yet, Rhys was also breathing deeply, so maybe he wasn't entirely unaffected. Though, maybe the heavy breathing was from the dancing or something, who could tell? There was absolutely no way a guy like this was feeling at all affected by the likes of a girl like her... Maybe she'd imagined the energy passing between them. That had to be it, right?
He looked down at her through hooded eyes, studying the expression in hers. “If I'm the only one wowed here, we have other problems, Sese,” he whispered to her, easily reverting back to Milo's nickname, his breath hot against her ear. “I gotta go take care of some stuff, but I'll talk to you soon, yeah?”
“Yeah Rhys, if you say so. Say bye to Milo for me.” Shortly, she collapsed into the back of the luxury SUV he had waiting for her. Once she arrived home she dragged herself up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Josh, her mind swirling from wine and lust and the memory of that kiss.
She crawled into bed, her thoughts lingering on Rhys as she lay in the only underwear he had chosen for her. Underwear she now had a desperate desire for him to see her in, to be here next to her. She pushed the thought from her hazy mind. That's not what he wants from me, he'll never want that from me. That was the last depressing thought she had before drifting off into a fitful sleep, dreaming of piercing green eyes, muscled and tattooed arms around her waist and in her hair, and his hard body pressed against hers.
9
She might still be half-asleep, but the hammering on the front door felt like a pickaxe straight to her skull. She dragged herself out of bed, a wave of nausea hitting her as she stood up. She waited for it to pass before she practically stumbled to the front door. She opened it to find a beautiful box waiting, with more tissue paper and another handwritten note.
This could be your life.
I know some of the fans call me the crowned prince of guitar. You’d be my princess.
There would be perks, like I said. Call me on the number on the back to discuss
-R
Holy shit. She had his number. His personal mobile number. And he wanted her to call...
The thought of him made the butterflies in her stomach not only flutter, but completely go nuts, like they were trying to escape through the lining of her stomach. The spot between her legs ached as she remembered his touch. That kiss. The feel of his hand in hers...
However, this would be a business arrangement to him. Nothing more. She would do well to remember that.
Beneath the note in the box, she found Tylenol, some electrolyte solution, a bottle of water, a fizzy drink, a packet of salted crackers and some packets of jelly candy. An odd, but somehow perfect hangover cure.
This could be her life for a few months, that's what he'd said. Him taking care of her – from a distance, most likely – and of course there was the financial compensation he was offering. She'd found the almost obscene sum of money on the other side of his note, underneath his number.
All she had to do was say yes, take a couple of pictures with him every now and then, and he would be hers – well, sort of – at least for a little while. She would have enough money to pay for school and then some, maybe even take a little island holiday to clear her mind when this was all said and done. She was tempted, that was for sure. She took a quick shower to try to clear her mind, but standing in the shower with hot water cascading over her body, all she could think of was him. At the very least, she figured she should say thanks for the care package, and she resolved to do just that as she stepped out of the shower and got dressed.
Once back in the living room, she picked up her phone and saved his number to her contacts. Then she typed out a quick text.
Thanks, you didn’t have to do that. Worked wonders though, almost human again
Josh burst through the apartment door just as she settled onto the couch to start weighing the pros and cons on an imaginary yellow legal pad in her mind.
“Well, look who's home for once!” He stared at her for a second before continuing. “Where you been, Ser? Never would've thought living with you would mean seeing less of you.” He looked at her with a pissed off expression and his mouth set in a tight line. His words stung a little.
Her phone buzzed almost immediately, alerting her to an incoming message. Her heart pounded as she saw Rhys' name pop up on the screen, but she could feel Josh staring at her, so she couldn't open the text or dance around to read it like she would have if she had been alone.
Instead, she looked down at her hands, fiddling with the note she had picked up again. “I'm sorry, Josh. I've just been a bit preoccupied.”
“With what? You still don't have a job, far as I know.”
“It’s kind of a long story actually. I’ve been offered a… like a job, kind of. It would pay well, but it’s unconventional. Not sure if I should take it. You heard of a band called Misery?”
His expression softened a little at that. “Ser, everyone on the planet has heard of Misery! 'Cept maybe you. I love 'em! Why? What have they got to do with what's been going on with you?”
“Uhm, so you’ve heard of Rhys Grant then?”
“Yes, Ser, I’ve heard of him. Worship that guy, even. Still don’t know why you’re asking.”
“The other night when I went out with Mary and the girls, I sort of met him.”
“What? You get his autograph? Not shittin’ you here Ser, but we could probably live for a few months off selling a drop of that guy’s sweat online!” Even Josh looked uncharacteristically excited about her meeting Misery. She must’ve been way out of the loop not knowing about them.
“Really?” Her nose crinkled at the information he had just given Her. “That’s gross!” Not that he didn't smell amazing or whatever. But selling his sweat?
“Seriously Ser, I heard that one guy made a shit ton of money selling his vomit online after a show in Buffalo!”
“That’s seriously gross, Josh. How does one even… Never mind. Anyway, he offered me a position with the band,” she murmured, looking down at her hands again.
Josh paled a bit. “Seriously? As what? In their marketing crew?”
“Uh yeah, no, actually. As an, uh, assistant for a few months.”
The color drained from his face completely. He kept quiet at first, then burst out, “You want to be his fucking prostitute?”
“No, Josh. Of course not. It’s not that kind of assistance!”
“You want to live in my house, spend your days fucking some rock star and have dinner like everything’s fucking okay?”
“Josh! No! I won’t be spending my days ‘fucking some rock star’!” Though certain parts of her clenched at the idea.
“I’ll take some pictures with him, spend some time with him and that’s that. Help the band, in a way.”
Josh's expression was darker than she'd ever seen it, which was saying a lot since she'd been the one who'd comforted him when his childhood pet hedgehog died, when his parents had gotten divorced, and countless other moments when life had smashed his head in.
“No, Serena. I will not let you live here while being some rock star’s pet prostitute!”
If I was going to be his 'pet prostitute,' I'd be able to get lots of sweat to sell online, she thought sarcastically as he continued yelling his nonsensical bullshit at her. He seemed to have completely forgotten his earlier eagerness to sell the man's sweat... Not that she would ever!
“You needed some place to live, and I gave it to you. No questions asked. But I will not have you living here while dating. Especially not while dating some self-absorbed, dangerous, alcoholic rock star! Christ, Ser, I know your parents are overprotective and all, but surely you've seen how he lives? Different girl every night, drinks enough bourbon to fill the Valley when he's having a rare quiet one. I mean, the man's a god at guitar, but sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll is a cliché for a reason. He's one of those goddamn reasons!”
“So wait. I can live here for as long as I want, as long as I'm single? But once I start dating, I'm not welcome anym
ore? Forget about Rhys and whatever life he may have to offer me. You said you won't have me living here while dating?” Those were the words that stuck out to her. No living while dating. What the hell?
“Yes, Serena. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” His voice was cold, laced with anger.
She hadn't missed how he'd used her full name before, but this time it seemed like an ultimatum.
She grabbed her phone off the coffee table and stalked into her room, scrolling to Rhys' name without having read his message. She played with the note, now crumpled, that she still held in her hand.
To her surprise, he actually answered the phone himself. Rock stars answered their own phones?
“Serena?” he asked by way of greeting, a note of surprise in his voice.
“Uh, yeah. I mean hi, it’s me. This proposal of yours, does it include a place to live by any chance? 'Cause if it does, I think I’m in.”
There was a burst of relieved laughter from the other end of the line. He didn't skip a beat, his voice confident and sure. “I can make that happen. When do you want to move in?”
“Ten minutes ago, or so? Whenever is fine, though. Just let me know.” Her hands were shaking. She couldn't believe she had just asked Rhys Grant if she could move in, and he had said yes!
“Okay, start packing, princess. I'll send someone right over.” He clicked off.
She stayed in her room. Josh had tried knocking a little earlier, proclaiming that they had to talk. Fuck him. She stayed in her room for another hour or so before she heard a knock at the front door. Seconds later, there was a knock at her bedroom door. “Miss Woods? Mr. Grant sent us to collect you and your things. If you could open up, please?”
She cracked the door open just an inch to find a giant man in a dark suit staring back at her. “Mr. Grant sent us. This is a non-disclosure agreement.” He handed her a document. “Mr. Grant insists that you sign it before we move you, or your things.” His voice was strong, but not arrogant. He remained stoic as her eyes flashed to the NDA.
